


Forward

by JaclynKL



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post Season 4 Minus the Lazy and Unsatisfying One Year Time Jump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaclynKL/pseuds/JaclynKL
Summary: Season 4 AU, Veronica struggles to move forward after Logan's death until she gets some unexpected help.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 58
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Veronica Mars belongs to Rob Thomas.

**DAY 1**

_“Logan!”_

_BOOM!_

I jolt awake and take in the dark living room from my spot on the couch. Pony’s asleep on the floor beside me, watching over. Daylight peeks out from under the blinds, blinds I don’t remember closing, but am grateful to for the darkness.

I don’t want to see the sun. I don’t want to see the ocean or any goddamn surfers enjoying the waves. There’s only one person I want to see and he’s…gone. Logan’s gone.

Everything feels like a nightmare I can’t figure out how to wake up from. The constant ache in my chest, suffocating me from the inside out, let’s me know that this tragedy is real.

A life without Logan is my new reality, but it’s not really a life at all. I don’t feel alive. I feel numb and paralyzed, dead. Like a ghost drifting through time, hearing those around me talk as if I’m not there, not being able to express any kind of emotion because one of two people I love most in this world is…gone.

I hear the shower shut off and for a split second my mood lifts knowing Logan will be out in a minute in a pair of low-slung sweats. He’ll engulf me in a hug, surrounding me in the scent of his shampoo.

After that split second passes the ache in my chest intensifies, bringing me back to the present, reminding me that Logan’s…gone and won’t be the one stepping through the bathroom door, my dad will.

He stayed the night, not because I asked, but because he’s scared. I see it on his face every time he looks at me. He’s scared to leave me alone, afraid I’ll harm myself secondary to not taking care of myself. I’ll starve to death because I don’t have the energy to leave the couch. I don’t have the energy to care about anything anymore. I’m hollow.

I hear my dad in the kitchen opening and closing cabinet doors and diving in the fridge to try and determine what I have available for breakfast.

While he’s mixing a bowl of something there’s a knock on the door. I track the sound of his caned steps as he crosses to the door and greets Wallace.

Wallace picks up Pony’s leash and calls her over to take her out.

“How is she doing?” I hear Wallace ask my father quietly when he and Pony return a few minutes later, as if I’m not lying on the couch fifteen feet away.

My dad’s heavy sigh says it all. I haven’t moved or said a word since he and Wallace tucked me in on the couch last night.

“After breakfast I’m going to try and get her up and in the shower. I think it will help if she changes out of her wedding dress and washes the dirt and smoke off. Remove the reminders of the explosion.”  
  
“Do you think she can handle that, Keith? She was hysterical last night when we tried to lay her down in her room. I thought we were gonna have to call 911 because she was hyperventilating so bad.”

There’s a brief silence where neither of them speaks, probably remembering the events of last night. How I fought them as they tried to walk me down the hall. The moment my knees gave out when I stood in the doorway and saw my…our bed. Mine and Logan. The bed we never got to and will never get to share as husband and wife. The sound of my labored sobs echoing throughout our tiny apartment as I tried to catch my breath.

“How did you get her moving after Lilly?” Wallace asks my dad.

_It’s not even remotely the same, Wallace._

My dad doesn’t answer right away and I know what he’s thinking. “Logan.”

“What?”

“Logan got her moving after Lilly died. She got out of bed to be there for him, to comfort him and he did the same for her. They moved forward for each other, together. For a few weeks at least.” My dad opens another cabinet and pulls down some plates. “When Lilly died, Veronica was sad. She was a sixteen-year-old girl who just lost her best friend, the first real loss she experienced in life. The difference was, she was still functional. Lilly’s death was a mystery; it sparked her need for justice. Solving Lilly’s case was part of the healing process for her. We know Epner is responsible for Logan’s death. Her search for justice and revenge, her usual grieving process, doesn’t apply now. And that it’s Logan…it’s too much and she can’t channel her pain into solving a case like she typically does. She has shut down and I don’t know how to get her through this.”

“We’ll figure it out and we’ll get her back, Keith.”

A few minutes later my dad and Wallace try to talk me into breakfast at the counter, but ultimately settle for breakfast on the couch when I don’t move.

Wallace pulls me up into a sitting position and places my plate on a tray over my lap. Both of them flank my sides and remind me to “take a bite” every few minutes like a small distracted child.

I should feel ridiculous, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything.

Once I’ve been forced to eat at least half my breakfast Wallace clears the dishes and my dad looks at me with that sad pitying look. The one that says even though he’s looking right at me, he doesn’t see his daughter, just a shell of the woman I used to be twenty-four hours ago before one accident changed everything.

“Hey, kiddo. I’ve reached out some clothes for you and put them in the bathroom. I think a shower may help you feel better.”

It takes some coaxing, but eventually my feet are moving toward the bathroom. My dad and Wallace follow behind me as if they don’t trust that I’ll actually make it there on my own. For all they know I’ll end up on the hallway floor in a ball crying uncontrollably like the previous night.

I close the door on two worried faces and look in the mirror. My white dress is no longer clean and crisp. It’s tinted with dirt and smells heavily like smoke, just like my dad said. I should take it off, but I can’t. Even in it’s marred state, it’s still beautiful and all I can think about is Logan standing right behind me in this very spot arguing about Arizona time zones.

The last time we touched. The last time we kissed. It was in this dress, this spot, which holds my very last untainted memory of Logan before everything went to hell.

I’m sitting on the closed toilet lid staring at my ring when there’s a knock on the door.

“Veronica…I’m coming in.”

My dad peeks his head in and seeing as I’m still dressed and completely dry opens the door all the way. Apparently, I’ve been in the bathroom for an hour even though it feels like minutes have passed. He explains that both he and Wallace panicked and called in reinforcements to help me shower since neither one of them were comfortable with the task themselves.

Alicia, Wallace’s mom, moves into the bathroom and kicks the boys out. She starts the water and adjusts the temperature until steam fills the room.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up.” She takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. With gentle movements she unzips my dress and slips it down my body, carefully folding it and placing it on the counter safely, like she understands it’s the most important article of clothing I own.

Her soothing motherly voice explains her every movement before she does it so as not to startle me. My not so modest lingerie follows my dress and is carefully folded and placed on the counter. If Alicia’s uncomfortable or disapproves of my undergarment choices, which gives her a glimpse into the healthy sex life Logan and I have…had, she doesn’t show it. The only emotion on her face is a small sad smile, that once again tells me she understands.

I step into the shower and let the hot water cascade over my shoulders and run down my body.

Alicia lathers shampoo into my hair and tilts my head back to keep the soap out of my eyes as she rinses it out. She repeats the process again with conditioner and then grabs my loofah and washes the rest of me.

When all the soap is rinsed off she shuts off the water and wraps a towel around me. The front of her shirt and a good portion of her pants are almost completely soaked from helping me shower, which she doesn’t seem bothered by.

Once I’m dry she helps me into the clothes my dad picked out. If I could feel anything I’d probably be mortified by the knowledge of my father going through my underwear drawer knowing what kind of bras, panties and toys he’d find in there, but I’m not even a little ruffled. None of it matters anymore anyway.

I sit down on the toilet lid again as Alicia runs a brush through my hair to untangle the knots. Then she digs around in our…my medicine cabinet until she finds a tube of Neosporin and a Q-tip. Kneeling down to be eye level with me she spreads a thin layer of ointment along each of the six cuts on my face.

“Let’s get you back to the couch to rest and see what those boys made for lunch, shall we,” she says as she pats my thigh and pulls me up.

I watch as Alicia gathers my dress and takes it with her to the living room where she carefully places it in a clear plastic dry cleaners garment bag. My heart constricts at the thought of my dress leaving the apartment, but I know Alicia will keep it safe until it is returned to me.

I keep walking and take up my spot back on the couch.

Alicia takes a seat next to me, to keep me company, and turns on the tv. I stare at the screen, but don’t absorb a single thing.

When lunch is ready, no one tries to move me to the counter. They’ve accepted that the couch is my new home. Another plate of food is placed over my lap on a tray. My dad and Alicia sit beside me and Wallace takes a spot on the floor. Again, they take turns reminding me to eat.

About an hour after lunch, Alicia gathers her things. “Thank you for everything, Alicia.” I hear my dad say to her at the door.

“It’s no problem at all. I’ll stop by again tomorrow to help. Don’t worry too much, Keith. She’ll get there it just takes time.”

My dad thanks her again and closes the door. The rest of the evening is no different. I never leave the couch unless it’s to use the bathroom and no words or sounds leave my mouth to talk or cry. I just lie there and stare at the closed window and the fading light from under the shades.

At some point my dad makes a few calls to get the windows in my bedroom replaced as soon as possible.

He and Wallace order Chinese takeout for dinner and join me on the couch, again. Roughly ten minutes before nine Wallace lets Pony out one last time and then makes his way back home to his family. My dad decides to stay the night and I fall asleep on the couch just before midnight dreaming of Logan.


	2. Chapter 2

**DAY 5**

Today is different.

It’s not the way I feel. I feel the same empty hollowness in my chest that has been there since Logan…left me. I barely leave the couch. I can’t take care of myself in the most basic ways. I haven’t spoken a single word in five days. Every night the same nightmare plays on a loop in my head preventing me from getting more than a few hours of sleep. On the surface, life continues on, my bleak existence continues on as my new normal.

But today is different. Everyone – my dad, Wallace, Alicia, and I swear even Pony – looks at me differently. The looks and stares are softer, gentler, as if I’m more fragile today than any previous one. Their patience with me lasts a little bit longer than usual. Waiting for my impending breakdown.

Today is different because today is the day of Logan’s funeral.

After breakfast Alicia helps me shower for the fifth day in a row. Instead of sending me back to the couch afterward, she grabs a bar stool from the kitchen and has me sit. She starts blow-drying my hair then curls it into loose waves just how I like it, how Logan likes…liked it.

Applying my makeup takes a little longer. Alicia has the challenging task of trying to mask my pale skin and hide the deep, dark purple shadows under my eyes. She makes a valiant effort. Only those who know me closely will be able to see through this façade.

Alicia pulls a black dress off a hanger resting on the back of the bathroom door and guides my body into it.

It’s a nice dress. The fabric is soft and fits me perfectly. I also hate it. I hate what it symbolizes. I hate what it means I’ll have to do today. I hate the emotions it will stir. I hate it and I can’t wait to take it off. Possibly burn it so I’ll never have to see it again.

I finally slip my feet into low black heels and follow Alicia out to the living room.

My dad and Wallace are ready and waiting by the door. Each of them in equally depressing outfits as my own. After I slip on the leather jacket Wallace holds out for me we leave.

The drive to the cemetery is a blur. I don’t realize we’ve arrived until I see my father standing outside the car holding the door open for me. Wallace and Alicia are standing about twenty feet away and the look on all three of their faces screams pity. My dad has obviously been trying to get my attention for quite a while.

I climb out of the car and my dad wraps his arms around me. Whether he’s leading me over to the plot or trying to keep me from running back home, I have no idea.

There are a hundred or so white wooden chairs lined up in two chunks facing a large photo of Logan in his navy uniform. The sight makes my steps falter and Wallace quickly steps up on the other side of me, stabilizing me.

I’m led to the front row, which is not where I want to be. It’s too close, too central, and too open. All eyes are going to be on me during the ceremony. Nosy people watching my every reaction to see if I’m holding it together or if I’m inconsolable. Watching and waiting with bated breath to see if the woman who initially turned down her husband’s proposal actually loved him.

While I wait for people to arrive and the service to begin I stare down at my lap and focus on my ring. The sun is bright and disgusting, mocking me with its happiness. I wish it was cloudy and raining to match my mood, but it’s not what I deserve. I deserve to be miserable, and I am.

The service begins and I listen to several speeches. I don’t know who is speaking or what stories they are sharing. I’m listening in the way sound moves in one ear and out the other without an ounce of comprehension.

At some point someone hands me a folded American flag and my fingers grasp the fabric tightly over my lap as unhelpful condolences start flowing at me from people I’ve never met. They cycle through like a guided tour. First, stopping in front of the closed and empty casket to pay their respects to a fallen friend. Then, they proceed to me, the grieving widow, with sad eyes and meaningless “I’m sorry for your loss” statements before heading to their cars and carrying on with their lives as if it’s like any other day.

When all who remains are Wallace, Alicia, my dad and myself do I finally stand up and make my way to the empty casket to “say goodbye.”

Those are my dad’s words of advice. I know it’s more ritual than anything. I said goodbye to Lilly at her funeral and it never brought me closure, so I don’t expect it to bring me any sort of comfort now.

There’s nothing for me to say anyway. That’s not entirely true. There’s a lot I _want_ to say, but not to an empty casket or a blown-up photo. There’s so much I should have said to Logan when I had him safe and sound and in front of me. But like everything else, it doesn’t matter now.

It’s only when the cemetery crew begins to lower the empty casket into the ground does it finally hit me. Logan’s gone. Truly gone. He now only exists in memories. Memories I can’t guarantee will stay with me as time moves on.

The weight of that realization makes my legs buckle as I collapse to my knees on the grass. Five days of burying emotion and sitting through a funeral dry-eyed and stoic bubbles up and explodes out of me. Sobs wrack my body so hard I think I might actually be dying. The pain is overwhelming and I can’t breathe.

No one touches me as I break down in the grass. No one comes to my rescue to comfort me. The three people who have been there for me the past five days are standing twenty feet away, giving me space, letting me have the reaction they think I need.

I don’t know how long I’ve been on the ground, but my legs are numb. My sobs have long since stopped, only the occasional silent hiccup rocks my chest as I sit here completely drained.

Eventually two strong arms wrap around my body and pull me up. Wallace lifts me completely off the ground and carries me back to the car. We don’t even make it out of the cemetery before I’m asleep on Wallace’s shoulder in the backseat.

* * *

**DAY 11**

The apartment is quiet as I sit in my usual spot on the couch petting Pony while she rests her head on my lap.

My dad moved back to his place a few days ago and my around the clock babysitters have gone back to work. They haven’t left me completely alone though. Either my dad, Wallace or more surprisingly Weevil, drop in for each meal to make sure I’m eating. Sometimes all three of them at once.

My dad and Wallace are fine, well not fine, but okay with, sitting in a semi-dark apartment with little to no conversation while we eat on the couch. Weevil, on the other hand, is more manipulative. I’m not even sure how he got himself involved as an exclusive member of my pity party, but he makes me do heinous tasks before he’ll let me eat.

For the past three days since he’s shown up he’s forced me to get out of the apartment. We walk a twenty minute loop, to the boardwalk and back, before he let’s me crawl back into my spot on the couch while he cooks me lunch. Every fucking day. Bastard!

While Weevil is rinsing off our dirty dishes in the sink he chatters away. “You know, V, I could fix this cabinet door for you.”

I don’t have to turn around from my position on the couch. I know the cabinet door he’s talking about, the one next to the fridge with a fist sized hole right through the middle. Logan’s fist.

“No,” I respond quietly through clenched teeth. This conversation is bordering on dangerous and Weevil doesn’t realize he’s standing on a pressure sensor of a topic that if he doesn’t disengage soon will blow.

“It’s an easy fix, V. I can swap it out and have a new one installed and painted to match tomorrow. When I come over tomorrow I’ll bring my tools and—“

“I SAID NO, WEEVIL!” I scream as I move around the couch. Ready to protect the broken cabinet with my life.

Weevil holds his hands up in front of his body, trying to appear non-threatening, even though the way his eyes are watching me, wide and attentive, he feels more threatened by me right now.

“Okay, V. I’m sorry. It’s okay. I won’t bring it up again.”

Tears run freely down my cheeks and my entire body is shaking on the verge of another hyperventilation episode as I sink to the floor.

I can’t explain to Weevil how looking at the hole in the cabinet makes me feel better, if only just slightly. The history of the hole, how it came to be, isn’t exactly a happy memory. It was made from Logan’s anger, anger toward me that was released on the cabinet. But it’s a memory nonetheless. A stark reminder that Logan had been in this house, existed within these walls, alive and well, not that long ago. A piece of him remains here because of that hole and for that very reason alone I cannot fix it. I can never get rid of it.

Pony settles herself at my side and I wrap my arms around her body, burying my face into her neck as I cry.

I jump some time later when a hand settles on my shoulder. My dad looks down at me with tears in his eyes and holds out his hand to help me off the floor. Weevil must have freaked when I became a hysterical mess and called my dad for help. And by the look on his face he is still unsure everything will be okay, even with my dad here.

I lay down on the couch and my dad covers me up with a blanket like a small child. He pushes my hair back and kisses my forehead before joining Weevil in the kitchen. A few minutes later a cup of tea is placed on the coffee table beside me, but I drift off before it even has a chance to cool.


	3. Chapter 3

**DAY 18**

_“Logan!”_

_BOOM!_

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

My eyes spring open as the reoccurring nightmare that haunts my mind every time I fall asleep comes to an end. But instead of daylight greeting me like usual, darkness still stretches out across the living room. Only then do I register what really jerked me from my nightmare – a consistent knock on my door at two in the fucking morning.  
  
It’s not odd that I’d have a visitor, even in the middle of the night, although it’s less frequent now. I have visitors daily, multiple times a day actually. What’s odd is the knocking. No one knocks when they come by anymore. It’s a little disturbing how many people have keys to my house – my dad, Wallace, Alicia, Weevil, even Cliff. They all barge in whenever they feel like it, privacy be damned, knowing if they were to knock and wait on the porch for me to answer they’d be waiting for a long time, probably a lifetime since I hardly ever get off the couch.

Which means my late night visitor is most likely a drunken twenty-something who stumbled to the wrong house after leaving the bar. Just great.

I turn on my side and bring the throw blanket that is covering my body up and over my head trying to block out the sound until the idiot outside my door gives up or passes out.

Unfortunately the steady knocks turn into sporadic banging and Pony’s had enough. She yips and growls from her spot on her doggy bed next to the TV under the window. I remove the blanket from over my head and find her staring at me, pleading at me really, to make it stop.

She yips again; in what I’m certain is an exasperated bark, when I don’t move.

“Come on, girl, open up.” A voice calls from my porch through the closed door.

I throw back the blanket and climb to my feet. Opening the door I stare unimpressed, not at a drunken twenty-something, but at a drunken thirty-something Dick.

“Jesus, Ronnie, you look like shit,” Dick says as he stumbles past me into the house uninvited.

“What do you want, Dick?” I say as I shut the door and cross my arms over my chest. I’m not in the mood to deal with Dick right now, let alone a drunk one.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” he slurs heavily, “all I’ve got lately is time. Time to think about shit I don’t want to think about.” Dick sways on his feet briefly and leans against the back of my couch to steady his movements. “You did this, you know. You killed Logan. You stick your nose in everyone’s fucking business and it’s annoying as shit. It pisses people off, but what do you care? You don’t. Your need to be the biggest pain in the ass on Earth backfired and someone got hurt. Logan is dead and it’s all your fault, Veronica! I just thought you should know.”

“I know!” I yell as I pierce Dick with a glare.

Pony nervously stands in between us and whines from all the shouting, not sure what she should do.

“It’s all I think about too. Every goddamn second of every goddamn day. I know, okay? I know!”

My vision blurs as tears gather in my eyes. “I should have suspected Epner sooner. I should have found the last bomb. I should have figured out the riddle. It should have been me instead of Logan. I wish that it were. I wish I could stick my head in the oven and put an end to all this, but what would it do? It won’t bring Logan back.”

“Ronnie—“

“Don’t. Don’t you dare come in here blaming me and then all of a sudden start pitying me. It is my fault. I’m the reason Trina no longer has a brother! I’m the reason you no longer have a best friend! I’m the reason Pony no longer has a daddy,” I end quietly as my voice breaks and the dam holding my tears back bursts. “It’s my fault,” I say as I sink to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. It feels like I’m suffocating from the inside out and I clutch my chest as I gasp for air.

Dick moves around me and walks closer to the door, but stops and turns back at the last minute. “Did you even love him?”

“What?” The question hits me like a bag of bricks and knocks the remaining air out of my lungs and I can’t respond right away.

“For as long as I’ve known Logan he has been in love with you. He can’t quit you for some reason. I also know that Logan would move mountains not only to keep you safe, but also to make you happy. He would sacrifice the things he loved for you. He would give it all up for you even if it made him miserable. That’s how much he loved you.”

A conversation I’d had with Logan a few weeks ago flashes through my mind.

_I love you. I do. But if I’m not what you want, say so. You want to stay in Neptune, you want to leave Neptune, it’s also your call. It’s your life. You get to do what you want._

I have no doubt in my mind Logan loves…loved me. Everything Dick had said so far was true, but somehow it seemed so much harsher under these circumstances. “We’re married. He’s my husband, Dick. Of course I love him.”

“Maybe you did,” he said, “but not enough to put his safety and happiness above your job. You didn’t love him enough to make the same sacrifices he would have made for you and now he’s dead because of it.”

“Get out, Dick!”

He finally leaves and I lower myself to the ground completely as I continue to cry. Guilt pours out of me. Guilt I’ve held inside since the accident and refused to acknowledge, it flows freely now that I’ve admitted it out loud. _It’s my fault._

My sobs intensify until I make myself sick. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m emptying my stomach into the toilet. Once my stomach is empty, like the rest of me, I sink to the floor and press my face against the cool tile. _It’s all my fault,_ is the only thought running through my head on a loop for hours until I eventually slip into oblivion.

* * *

“Veronica?”

I’m woken by the front door closing and my father’s caned footsteps moving around my apartment. No doubt wondering where I am since I’m not in my usual spot on the couch.

Pony jumps up from her bed and follows my father around, her collar tags clanking together as she moves. Together their movements grow closer. The bedroom door opens from across the hallway and I hear my dad sigh. He thought I finally managed to scruff up enough courage to sleep in my bed again. His disappointment that I’m not moving forward in the healing and grieving process, even minuscule progress, is evident.

Pony whines and scratches at the bathroom door next trying to be helpful. A second later there’s a light tap on the door followed by my dad poking his head in. Seeing me lying on the floor he pushes the door open all the way and leans against the doorframe.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says gently with that soothing fatherly voice of his. “Did you sleep here all night?”

I shrug, rub the sleep from my eyes and pull my body up into a sitting position against the wall with my legs stretched out in front of me. “There wasn’t a whole lot of sleep involved.”

He studies me for a minute before responding. “I think it’s time to see a doctor. You’ve barely slept in nearly three weeks, maybe they can prescribe you something to help.”

“You mean like sleeping pills?”

“Yeah, you need to start getting a decent nights sleep. It’s not good for you to keep running on empty for so long. It’s okay to have a little help Veronica.”

And that’s how I found myself sitting in an exam room with my father three hours later. I could have fought him on the idea. I could have argued that I didn’t need or want them, but arguing required more energy than I could muster. It was easier to just go through the motions. He would be less worried about me and happier.

Besides, I didn’t have to take them in the end.

Dr. Will Henry entered the room and took a seat in the third open chair. He was tall, maybe six-five, and built like a tree with muscular limbs. In his 40’s he was beating the aging odds, his hair had no specks of gray, but flowed thickly from the left side of his head to the right in one perfect brunette wave. His skin was wrinkle free and his smile was nearly perfect except for one tooth on the bottom that was slightly crooked. If anything that tiny imperfection probably made him sexier to most of his female patients. He was a walking television doctor stereotype.

“Veronica, your father already brought me up to speed on the last few weeks when we talked on the phone so I won’t make you go over it again,” he said looking me over and focusing on the deep dark purple bags under my eyes that seemed to get worse each day. “I agree with your father that you need to get more sleep, restful sleep, not just cat naps here and there.”

Dr. Henry crossed his right leg over his left and leaned back in his chair creating a more casual and comfortable environment that promoted conversation. “Sleep deprivation is dangerous. Without proper sleep we are more vulnerable to other health conditions and diseases, our memory and speech essentially give out and hallucinations are more likely to occur. I think you would benefit from prescription sleeping pills, however I don’t prescribe them lightly because patients tend to abuse them. So if you don’t mind I’d like to ask you a few questions first. Would that be okay?”

I nodded my head and waited for his first question.

“Are you pregnant?”

This was the second question within twelve hours to steal my breath away for reasons unknown.

“Veronica, I want to help you, but I can’t do that unless you answer my questions honestly. Is there a possibility that you could be pregnant?”

I thought back to the last time Logan and I had sex. It was the night he got back in town when I finally accepted his proposal. He carried me back to our bedroom and set me down gently on the bed. We were celebrating, but it wasn’t fast and passionate. We took our time because we had the rest of our lives for heat of the moment sex. Or at least we thought we did. It was slow, sensual, intimate – nothing but love between us.

That night was about three weeks ago, give or take. Did I think I was pregnant? No. Was there a possibility though? Yes. So I answered honestly and nodded my head.

“We’ll run a pregnancy test just to be safe,” Dr. Henry assured me. “Do you drink?”

“Socially.” I answered.

“That’s fine as long as you don’t mix alcohol with sleeping pills. If you plan on drinking, skip the sleeping pill for the night. Are you on any prescription meds or use recreational drugs?”

I fidgeted with my ring instead of looking at Dr. Henry or my father.

“Veronica?” Dr. Henry probed.

 _Fuck._ “I’m not taking any medications,” I evaded like the professional I am.

“What about recreational drugs?”  
  
“Socially,” I answered again, hoping my vagueness was enough.

“Can you elaborate for me?”

 _Fuck me._ “Ecstasy and Marijuana.” I admitted quietly.

“When was the last time you used them?”

“About two months ago.” I avoided my dad and the glare I’d probably find on his face and turned my attention to Dr. Henry. “It was a one time thing. I don’t plan on using again.” _Not entirely true. I probably would have done them again if Logan were still here. Without him to look out for me and watch my back to make sure nothing happened there’s not a chance in hell I’ll do it again._

“Okay. Good.” After the result of my pregnancy test came back negative Dr. Henry wrote the prescription for a thirty-day supply and had it sent to the pharmacy. He went through sleeping pill safety and common side effects people typically experience “If you have any questions or concerns please don’t hesitate to give me a call,” he said with a smile.

We left and when we climbed back into my father’s car he didn’t start the car right away. We sat in silence for a minute before he threw out, “ecstasy and marijuana?”

I stared out the window, “I’m an adult and it was one time.”

He let the subject drop, for now, but the awkward silence lingered until we reached the pharmacy and then my apartment.

* * *

**DAY 21**

I still haven’t taken the pills. I probably should since it’s 6am and I’ve been awake for hours, but I can’t. I’m afraid to dream. I’m afraid of the nightmares. I’m afraid to take a sedative when I’m alone in this apartment. Mostly, I’m afraid of what Logan will say to me when I’m asleep.

Thanks to Dick’s visit the other night I can’t get the guilt I feel out of my head. It’s consuming me.

So instead of spending another day on the couch I get up and start getting dressed. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I take Pony out and send out a group text to my handful of babysitters, _Ate breakfast already. Going out for a while,_ before turning off my phone.

Grabbing Logan’s car keys I head out.

Twenty minutes later I pull up to the cemetery and park. I take a deep breath before climbing out of the car and make my way to the plot site Logan was assigned.

I haven’t been here since the funeral and even though I know Logan isn’t buried here it’s the best place I can think of to talk to him.

I kneel down in the grass and run my fingers over Logan’s name carved into the stone in front of me. “Hey,” I say, my voice already wavering. “I miss you. Pony misses you. Every day feels empty without you here, like there’s no point in getting out of bed each morning because I know I won’t see you. There’s nothing for me to look forward to anymore. And I’m sorry.”

A strangled sob escapes from the back of my throat and sets off a tsunami of tears. “I’m so sorry, Logan. You’re not here and it’s all my fault. I did this to you and I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to lose you, but I did and I can’t say I’m sorry enough.”

“I keep going back to that day you came home, before I took that case. You came out of the bathroom after your shower and you asked me to marry you. I should have said yes, but instead I was a bitch to you and we lost time. We lost an entire future. If only I had said yes sooner and let the sheriffs department handle the bomb case you might still be here.”

“I’m sorry I put my job above you. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough for me. You are all I’ve ever wanted and I should have treated you better, loved you better. And I know I gave you a hard time, but I’m so proud of you for turning your life around, for going to therapy and becoming the best version of yourself. I’m just sorry about everything.”

I wipe the tears from my face even though more kept falling. I sit there for what feels like hours until my tears run dry and I can’t cry anymore. I stand up and carefully place my hand on top of the smooth stone I have spent all morning confessing to. “I love you Logan.”

Turning around to head back to the car, I freeze at the sight of the person I least expected to see staring back at me with a gentle smile.

“Hey, Bobcat.”


	4. Chapter 4

**DAY 21**

“Logan,” I whisper, as he stands right in front of me. I’ve finally hit my breaking point, I’m sure of it. I know he’s not real because I saw the extent of the street after the explosion, my decimated car in twisted scraps of metal littering the pavement like glitter. There’s no way Logan survived the blast, no matter how hard I try to imagine he somehow has, but here he is standing not even five feet away from me, looking so life-like, so real that I feel like I’m losing my mind and my grip on reality.  
  
This is nothing like seeing Lilly, all those years ago. He’s not half faded and cast in an ethereal glow, wispy like a ghost or an unbelievable dream. Logan looks like…well, Logan, as if the past three weeks of hell have never happened and nothing has changed.

Except it has. Everything has changed. And this is a damn good – cruel – hallucination.

“I’m hallucinating,” I say to myself out loud as I squeeze my sleep-deprived eyes shut. I’ve longed to see Logan for weeks now. In my dreams I only see a twisted version of the explosion, one I didn’t actually experience, but haunts me just the same. Instead, I heavily rely on cycling through my memory bank for images of him. Now, basically a mirage in front of me, I can’t deal. It’s too much to take in in my already severely fragile state it seems.

My heart starts beating uncontrollably in my chest and I feel my lungs trying to grab as many breaths as possible. I’m standing in the middle of a cemetery filled with fresh air, but it feels like it’s impossible to breathe. The air is thick and hot, or maybe it’s just me. I struggle to get my sweatshirt off as a feeling of lightheadedness sweeps over me, but I manage.

The cool spring air hits my bare arms not covered by my tank top and it feels good, but it’s not enough. My vision is starting to blur, becoming bright white with decorated black dots as if I was looking directly into the sun for too long.

I feel my body sway and I try to prepare myself for the inevitable swell of unconsciousness that is about to swallow me up, the hard ground of the Earth that is going to break my fall when I pass out. Before I have time to worry if any of the many headstones nearby are going to factor into softening my fall, two strong arms wrap around my body and lower me to the ground slowly.

“You’re okay, Veronica, I’ve got you. Just breathe, Bobcat. Just breathe.”

My body is nestled within Logan’s arms, pressed hard against his chest while sitting on his lap. He’s speaking softly in my ear, words of comfort, as my panic attack slowly resides. It’s then, as I’m focusing on slowing my breathing down that I notice the differences in Logan.  
  
_One - he’s solid. He can’t be a hallucination because I can feel him. He’s wrapped around me, firm and strong, like he always has been. The weight of him feels the same._  
  
_Two - he’s not warm. Logan runs warm. His skin always feels like a heater against mine. But now there’s no warmth radiating off him. He’s not cold either. Room temperature, maybe? He’s more of a pressure than any temperature I can pinpoint._

And the difference that hits me the hardest, the one that physically hurts to discover is:

_Three - he has no heartbeat. The steady rhythm of his pulse beneath his chest, the sound that calms me and makes me feel safe when my body rests against his is no longer there. His body is silent, there’s no movement of air or blood._

When I’ve calmed down enough I pull out of Logan’s arms slightly so that I’m able to look up into his expressive brown eyes. Eyes that have given away his every emotion since the day I met him. Eyes I’ve missed terribly these last three weeks. “You’re here.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he says as he runs the pad of his thumb over my cheek lightly.

He’s full of shit. The dark bags under my eyes combined with my sickly pale skin do not paint a picture of beauty, but the words coming from his mouth and the feel of his skin against mine bring tears to my eyes all the same as my face heats up under his gaze. Only he could make me feel a fraction of beautiful right now. “I don’t understand how you’re here.”

“I don’t understand it either, but it doesn’t matter how or why, does it? We’re here together.”

“I can touch you,” I say as I run my finger over his lips.

“I know.”

He’s watching me intently and before I’m aware of what I’m doing, my fingers are running through his hair until they are settled on the back of his head, bringing his mouth closer to mine. I reach up and slide my lips gently over his in a quick pass, my body shaking slightly as I do it again. On the third pass I press my mouth against his, full and consuming. My eyes slide closed as Logan joins me in the kiss, all lips, teeth and tongues – both of us rediscovering what we thought was forever gone.

We both pull away to get some air and in that brief pause my guilt rattled brain remembers why I came here in the first place. “Oh, god, Logan,” I say through a strangled sob, “I’m so sorry. I never wanted this to happen, this is all my fault.”

I try to climb off Logan’s lap, but he pulls me back into his chest before I can escape. “Shh, don’t. None of this was your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I didn’t solve the riddle. I didn’t find the last bomb.” I cry as my voice breaks, “I didn’t save you.”

“Veronica, this wasn’t your fault. You didn’t build the bomb or plant it in your car. Epner did. He’s the one who’s to blame. Only him. We can play the _What If_ game for the rest of time, but it won’t change what has already happened. It will only drive you insane. This wasn’t your fault, Veronica. It was bad timing. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time or maybe I cheated death one too many times and it finally caught up to me. Whatever you want to believe, please just let it go, Veronica. I know you feel like you need to be punished for this, but you don’t, because it isn’t your fault. If you keep blaming yourself, you’ll be punishing us both because watching you spend the rest of your life in pain will be torture for me. It will break my heart.”

Logan cradles me in his arms and presses his lips against my temple. “Let it go, Bobcat. Please.”

* * *

Logan follows me up the stairs to our apartment. I pause with my key in the lock, suddenly nervous about bringing Logan home. Bringing my husband home. It’s not that I don’t want him here, I do, more than anything in the world I want him here with me. It’s just that it feels like several lifetimes ago that he was here. So much has changed in such a short time.

I turn the key and push open the door allowing Logan to enter first before I follow and close the door behind us.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Weevil shouts at me.

I jump slightly and notice he’s not the only one taking up space in my house. My dad, Wallace and Alicia are standing nearby all with matching looks of concern. “I told you guys I was going out for a while.”

Pony jumps down from the couch and starts barking, dancing around playfully as she approaches me. The four adults in front of me are too mad and worried to realize Pony’s weird behavior is not actually directed at me, but at Logan.

“Who’s a good girl? Huh, who’s a good girl? You are, yes you are. Daddy missed you so much,” Logan coos beside me, kneeling down as Pony rolls around on the floor with him.

Which also means,

_Four - I’m the only one who can see Logan. Me and apparently Pony._

“You’ve been gone for twelve hours, Veronica.” My dad says bringing my attention back to the group. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? With the way things have been the last three weeks and then all of a sudden you say you’re going out and no one can get a hold of you – it makes me think that you—“ my dad stops, choking back tears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want anyone to worry—“

“Yeah,” Weevil cuts me off, raising his voice once again. Logan stands up and moves closer to my side as if he could step in and protect me like before. “If you didn’t want us to worry then you shouldn’t have turned off your fucking phone!”

“Weevil—“ Wallace tries to intervene.

“No, I want to hear where she was while we were all going out of our minds today.” He turns back to me with a hard glare. “So? Where were you, V?”

“I went to see Logan,” I say quietly.

The energy in the room shifts instantly. Gone is the anger and worry, replaced with four sets of sympathetic eyes staring right back at me.

Alicia is the first to make a move. She walks toward me and wraps her arms around me in hug, rubbing her hand along my back like a mother comforting a child. “I think what these boys were trying to say is that they are glad you’re okay. They’ll be fine and so will you, sweetheart.”

After that they each take turns giving me a hug and apologizing for coming down on me so hard. Even though I failed to communicate with them, the fact that I left the house on my own was enough progress in their eyes to let the subject drop quickly.

Despite my protesting, Wallace orders pizza and they all stick around for dinner. Logan’s body is pressed up against mine the entire time and I’m desperately itching to get him alone. I put on a show during dinner; staying extra quiet and yawning every few minutes while letting my eyes droop a little in between.

My dad is the first to notice my exhaustion. He shoos everyone out when we are all finished eating. “Get some sleep, kiddo. I’ll come check on you tomorrow,” he says with a kiss to my forehead before he leaves.

“Alone at last,” I say to Logan with a smile right before a real yawn splits my face.

Pony’s already in bed, asleep. Logan’s homecoming had worn her out and she’s snoring softly in her doggy bed in the corner of the living room.

Logan grabs my hand and starts walking me down the hall toward our room.

I dig my feet into the ground before we make it to the threshold. “I…I can’t. I haven’t slept in here since…”

He looks at me with understanding and brings his lips down to mine in a gentle kiss. “I’m here now and I won’t leave you. I’ll be right beside you all night.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” I exhale through a shaky breath and let Logan lead me into our bedroom. I crawl onto the bed in the dark after stripping off my sweatshirt and jeans and Logan meets me in the middle from the other side. He lays down first and snuggles me against his chest just like old times.

“I love you, Logan,” I say as I intertwine our hands and place them over his heart.

“I love you, too,” he whispers back as his arms tighten around me in a comfortable cocoon, safe and familiar.

And within minutes I'm asleep.


End file.
